Corruption by Way of Double Chocolate Fudge
by bittersweetie
Summary: From Chapter 4: In her fit of rage, Ginny seriously contemplated hurling the dish at the wall, but reconsidered. She'd rather throw it at Malfoy...
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I didn't invent Harry Potter and I didn't invent the English language, but I'm using them both. So there.

Author's notes: This story features occasional comments from the narrator. That may be me or perhaps it's just the fandom in its entirety. Either way- totally sarcastic.

And remember: Review, review, review!!!! I so very much so loff your reviews.

Chapter 1

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The Injustice

"Fight in the Charms hallway!"

This was the cry ringing through the corridors, calling all winter-dulled students to witness the one, the only, _the_ fight of the century. You could almost hear the horrified gasps and yells, drifting all the way up to the Astronomy Tower, and promising a distraction from a mid-holiday stupor. It was going down now, a glorious fight to the bitterest end. Push to the front row and you might even get some blood splattered on your robes!

Who _wouldn't_ want that?

Not that this appealed much to Ginny Weasley, who had been enjoying her holiday with a delicious vanilla sundae. But even she heard the news, as it spread like wildfire from the mouth of Colin Creevey. It was the only explanation as to why every single student still at Hogwarts over the winter holiday was streaming out of the room straight towards Flitwick's classroom. Shrugging, Ginny pulled herself out of a cushy common room armchair to join the mob, leaving her ice cream to see what was going on.

But little did she know that this was no ordinary fight. 

This was a fight for family honor, for personal pride, and maybe just a bit out of pure, unwavering, hair-color induced jealousy (because everyone knows that blondes have more fun).

Weasley vs. Malfoy, the battle to begin a war.

~~

"Is that all you've got Weasley? You didn't even ask me nicely."

"I said, _shut it,_" said Ron angrily, snarling at that irritating, humming git that was Draco Malfoy. 

"If you're not going to be polite about it, I don't see why I should," responded Draco lightly, in his sexily aristocratic voice (at least that's how he'd describe it). And truly, the _only_ reason he was doing this was to teach the Gryffindors some manners. He continued to hum and sing to the tune that had stopped Ron dead in the corridor just moments before:

__

Weasley cannot hm hmm hm

Hm cannot block hm hm hm hmm

Hmm hm Slytherins all sing

Weasley is our King!

Sure it had been months, but that tune was still excruciatingly recognizable, even when sung so softly by a certain smirking white-blond someone, passing you in the hall. That jeering tune, along with an already horrible day, was enough to push even "royalty" over the edge.

At the time, Ron barely thought. He didn't notice the menacing presence of Crabbe or Goyle, either of whom could eat a scrawny little Weasley boy alive as part of a well balanced breakfast, and still have room for tea and crumpets. Ron's only goal was to shut Malfoy up. To that end, he drew his fist back and went for the face.

Not the face!

A resounding _crack_ split through the corridor, asRon's fist connected with a hard, though attractively tissue paper wrapped package. In a split second, Draco had deftly moved the parcel to protect his precious facial features.

Oh thanks be to the glorious heavens above!

"Oh shit," swore Ron, trying to shake the pain out of his hand.

Malfoy lowered his parcel while making a small gesture to keep Crabbe and Goyle at bay. He was having far too much fun with this to ever let them use his newest toy as a punching bag.

"Tut, tut Weasley. Hasn't anyone ever told you to use your words, and not your fists? I already knew your family lived like animals, but I had no idea you acted like them too."

A small crowd had begun to gather in the hallway to watch the skirmish up close. They'd divided themselves almost without thought, half flowed into Ron's corner, half behind Draco. The sides were clearly drawn, although Draco still managed to bask in attention from either side, not being one to discriminate.

"Lucky for me," said Malfoy airily, "I had something to defend against your barbarian attack. It's a present for my mother in case you were wondering. Belgian Crystal. And I hope for your sake that it's not broken. I'm sure it's worth at least twice as much as your house."

"Shut up Malfoy," hissed Ron, infuriated still more by that persistently cool gaze and stanch nonchalance.

Ron's fist went whizzing through thin air, missing entirely as Malfoy dodged the punch. Having expected to hit something, Ron was thrown entirely off balance. He stumbled forward, just managing to keep his footing, while that disdainful voice continued to taunt him.

"I never imagined you would fight like such a girl, Weasley. Seems like all those nights at the poor house, fighting over the last slice of stale pumpernickel have yet to pay off."

And it was with that insult that Ginny reached the mass of people assembled in the hall. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't mistake that sneering tone, or even who its insult could possibly be meant for. Ginny pushed her way through the crowd, while Harry Potter trailed close behind. He had seen her making her way down the corridor, and had followed.

"Ron!" Ginny yelled stepping towards her brother into the ring of onlookers. "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry moved out of the crowd too, grabbing Ginny before she could reach her brother. She turned to him in surprise, but her incredulous gaze was only met by a brief glance. Harry already had his wand out, pointing straight at Malfoy.

"Back off Malfoy," said Harry steely. "It's two against one now."

Ron glanced up at them; face flushed and eyes fiery. His voice was unwavering.

"Stay out of this, _both_ of you," said Ron. "I can handle him alone."

"What?! No way Ron," said Ginny in alarm, trying furiously to shake Harry's grip. "You can't _do_ this!"

But Ron remained deaf to his sister's appeals.

"Oh isn't that sweet," cooed Malfoy. "Personally, I think it's best you listen to them. It's really a hopeless situation for you otherwise. I'll bet even that whorey little sister of yours could beat you to a-"

But he was cut off mid-insult. Ron had spun around suddenly and, with all his frenetic anger thrown into one movement, connected with the side of Malfoy's face.

POW!

Ginny let out a small cry as the blow hit, while the rest of the audience gasped as one. Draco lurched sideways, the crowd scattering as he fell into the rough stone wall. He turned his scratched face to Ron, a small steam of blood rolling down one cheek. But that didn't stop Ron from coiling his arm back for another swing, oblivious to the tremendous forms of Crabbe and Goyle lumbering towards him.

And that's when Harry and Ron switched places.

The yells and jeering of the surrounding crowd came to a sudden confused halt.

But in that eerie silence, as Ginny wondered why it was now Harry standing in the way of Crabbe's clenched fist, his glasses skewed and face bewildered, Ron was still pumped with adrenaline and an unhealthy dose of fury. He saw Harry in a daze, as the massive fist of Crabbe came hurtling towards him in a lethal undercut. In that dreamlike instant, Ron ran from his place in the crowd, and threw himself in front of the blow.

"Oof"

Crabbe's fist buried itself in Ron's stomach. With a tremendous groan, he collapsed to the floor.

The crowd burst into hysterics.

"How did that happen?"

"Did you see that!"

Ginny rushed from the throng of students towards her brother, trembling on the ground. She felt a bit dizzy, just watching him in so much pain. Harry was bent down, waving a hand uselessly in front of Ron's face.

"Ron, Ron! Are you alright?"

"Oooo my owww pain uhhng," Ron burbled.

"I doubt he's alright," interpreted Harry, forsaking his hand-waving efforts

"We have to get him out of here," said Ginny.

And that was exactly what they did, although maybe more speedily than Ron would've liked, for at that moment the surrounding crowd began a frenzied, shoving stampede for escape.

"NO FIGHTING IN THE HALLS!!" yelled Filch, galloping down the corridor in tow of his tattle-tail feline, Mrs. Norris.

"The shackles for anyone I catch, the bloody lot of you!"

And he meant it. Over the holidays, Filch had sole dominion over Hogwarts, and its unending supply of miscreants. The other teachers were much to busy outside of the school to be bothered with babysitting a bunch of students, so they had left Filch as the only adult supervision. He was in a position of absolute power. 

Not that this went to his head, of course. You didn't _need_ to be drunk on power to decree mandatory Chinese water torture for overdue library books. No one knew how he'd treat mob gatherings at a hallway fight, and even fewer wanted to find out.

"Help me lift him!" yelled Harry over the noise of the frantic mob. Heaving up Ron, who had passed out from the pain, Harry and Ginny dragged him as quickly as possible to the first open door, a darkened broom closet. Then all three slipped inside, loosing themselves in the chaotic escape.

As for Draco, he had already slipped away, nimbly dodging the useless Filch and his flea-ridden cat. His face still throbbed where Weasley's fist had connected, a stinging reminder of defeat And if that wasn't bad enough, somehow, Draco had almost seen the famous and beloved Harry Potter pummeled to death. _Almost._ But Weasley had stolen even that satisfaction with his damned heroics, ruining the divine moment of suffering that Potter so richly deserved. 

Draco was seething with indignance and bent on revenge. Nobody, especially some paltry, impoverished, redheaded Gryffindor, was going to do this to him without suffering the consequences. Maybe Weasley thought he was in pain now, but the ruthlessness of a spoiled rotten Slytherin is destined to be far more agonizing than any blow to the stomach.

Beware the wrath of a Malfoy scorned.

~~

Next Chapter: How will Draco avenge this intolerable injustice? Why the hell did Ron and Harry switch places? And _what_ will Harry and Ginny get up to in that broom closet? Sure Ron's there too, but he _is_ unconscious…


	2. Ch2

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Disclaimer: Remains the same

Chapter Two

"That sure beats playing exploding strip snap," remarked Theodore Nott, settling down in a leather-upholstered armchair.

"I always prefer a good fight over the regular holiday drudgeries," agreed Blaise Zabini, delicately covering a yawn with one hand, and consequently flaunting her newly polished blood-red nails.

They were just two of a group of Slytherins, gathered in the common room, gossiping about the fight.

"Did you happen to see where Draco went afterwards?" asked Pansy Parkinson. "I lost him in the mob."

"As if you were looking for him," said Nott. "Seems to me you were too busy plowing over those first years, trying to escape Filch."

"Whereas you prefer having the itty-bitty first years plow over you," retorted Pansy smugly.

"Small maybe," said Malcolm Baddock solemnly, "but powerful in large numbers."

Everyone ignored him.

"Don't any of you heartless Slytherins feel bad for Draco?" asked Blaise, barely suppressing the laughter in her voice. "He must be _devastated_ that his little spat drew such a large crowd."

"Surely," said Nott, rolling his eyes. "The whole thing practically turned into a public spectacle. The poor darling must be mortified."

"Really? Seems to me like Draco never misses a chance to turn his vendettas into a publicity stunt," said Pansy.

"And usually with you're help, might I add," put in Blaise, just as Draco Malfoy strode into the room.

The Slytherins became suddenly fascinated by various books, wall hangings, or the ever-remarkable floor.

"Did you ever notice," began Malcolm in wide-eyed epiphany, "this floor is made entirely of stone?"

Nott was not impressed.

"We're in a castle, everything is made of stone."

"Even the cupcakes," finished Blaise.

Malcolm Baddock returned his gaze sulkily to the floor, leaving Draco with the room's full attention.

Just the way he liked it.

"What?" said Draco sweetly, taking a flourishing bow. "No applause?"

Pansy leapt out of her chair and hurried over to him.

"I was so worried!" she gasped dramatically, brandishing a handkerchief and blotting at his still bloodied face. "Thank gods you're alright."

Draco recoiled, trying not to grimace at the stinging scratch on his cheek.

"Would you mind keeping your hands off of me for five seconds Parkinson," he hissed quietly. "I know it's unbearably hard." 

Shrugging her off, Draco walked to the center of the room, where he proceeded to ask a remarkably abrupt question. You know, just to keep things interesting.

"So who would like to help me torture Weasley?"

The Slytherins looked up in surprise. So did this mean they _weren't _supposed to pretend as if the entire hallway defeat had never taken place, thereby maintaining Draco's dignity, at least by all appearances? How unexpected.

"While you know we would all jump at the chance, I think he's rather in a lot of pain already," said Blaise.

"And isn't it Potter you're trying to torture?" asked Malcolm Baddock, the ever present third year.

"Usually," said Draco, "but I think his dear redheaded sidekick deserves at least one humiliation as retribution for tonight. You may not be aware, but…" he paused, making sure he held their full attention before dropping the abominable truth, "…Weasley drew blood this evening that has besmirched my newly tailored robes."

Surely death is too kind a punishment for an offense such as that?

"Plus, he's only in pain after saving his friend. I bet as a Gryffindor, he barely feels it."

"I was rather disappointed by that little maneuver," agreed Blaise, "Makes my switching spell seem utterly worthless."

"That was you?"

"Well yes," said Blaise. "I thought Potter deserved to be pummeled much more than his redheaded devotee, so when I saw him in the crowd, it was divine inspiration. Fate and all that. After all, it's not Weasley we're mad at, is it?"

She looked to Draco.

"But perhaps I'm mistaken."

"Perhaps," he agreed with unimaginable condescension, "But then again, perhaps you can make it up to me. To properly humiliate Weasley, I'm going to need some assistance."

The Slytherins grew silent, waiting to hear what he had to say. Whenever Draco got in a snit over something, he wasn't bound to give it up any time soon. Plus there were always bonus points to be had. 

"Blaise, I'll need you to pull a few strings, and maybe lend me some of that shiny red lipstick of yours. Pansy, dig up some of your, shall we say, more revealing clothes. I'll do the potion. Oh, and where are Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Filched," said Malcolm, attempting wit. Sadly, nobody cared.

"Have Warrington get them out of Filch's office by tomorrow morning. The rest of you, listen carefully and you may learn a thing or two about what it means to concoct a truly devious plan."

~~

Crammed into the closet, Ginny, Harry and (unconscious) Ron stood stiffly, completely tangled together in the dark space. There was something jabbing into her side, but Ginny was too tense to move. Even if she'd just had a full-body Swedish massage, she would probably still be completely immobile, what with her brother leaning heavily against her, crushing her between the wall and Harry's chest. 

But aside from the feeling of being smushed between two pieces of day old bread, Ginny was in an arguably awkward position.

Harry's arms were circled around her, mostly because she was in the way of his efforts to support Ron. The elephantine weight of brother was also managing to put a strain on Ginny and the one free arm she had to contribute to the effort. Uncomfortable and nervous, Ginny chewed distractedly on her fingernails.

And to make matters worse, what felt like a feather duster was mischievously tickling the tip of her nose.

Trying not to sneeze, Ginny wrinkled her nose determinedly. The silent broom closet seemed to block the noise from outside, but she wanted to be careful nevertheless. Knowing Filch, he would probably still be able to hear them over nothing less than a full-fledged typhoon.

Ginny rather wished her heart would stop beating so very loudly. 

These thoughts were interrupted by Harry though, muttering darkly to himself.

"This is all my fault." 

As he hung his head in remorse, she felt the tips of his unruly hair brush lightly against her neck, sending shivers up her spine.

Feather dusters and now this.

"_How_ is this your fault?" she whispered back, assuming he was talking about Ron's deliberate collision with Crabbe's fist.

Harry was silent for a bit, until Ginny figured he wasn't going to respond at all. Then he said quietly, "But why did he do it?"

"Harry," Ginny began, "can you actually imagine him doing anything less?"

The aforementioned Ron was getting heavier by the minute, Ginny practically collapsing under his dead weight. Sure she'd called her brother a sack of rotten potatoes once or twice before (and then graduated to more colorful language), but she'd never realized how very true it was. Why, he was almost heavier than Harry's darkly repentant mood.

"I just…"

"He just didn't want to see you hurt," said Ginny, wanting to wrap this up before they were caught. But before she could stop herself, she added with slightly more feeling than she'd meant to convey, "Nobody does."

Ginny could feel Harry's heart race, pounding against her back. She'd hoped he'd be too dense to be reminded of a certain naïve childhood crush, completely stamped out now that she was older and wiser. 

Or so some would have you believe.

"Ginny, I..."

But he was cut off as Ron came out of his concussion, mumbling,

"What...where am I?"

Ron shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to clear his spotty vision.

"We're in a bro-" Harry started to whisper.

Ron began to wriggle around, though he insisted on keeping most of his weight off his own two feet. Ginny was severely tempted to drop him then and there.

"It's dark in here, can't see a bloody thing."

Ron began waving a hand frantically in front of his face.

"I can't even see my own hand!"

"Yes well," tried Harry again, "we _are_ in-"

"Egads!" exclaimed Ron, his voice rising to a remarkably feminine pitch. "I've gone BLIND!"

In utter panic, he started flailing about, knocking loudly against the mops, the brooms, and the ever-present feather dusters.

"Shhh!" shushed Harry and Ginny sharply.

"Wha-?" began Ron, still speaking in what would not be considered an 'indoor voice'.

"Ron, do _shut up_," hissed Ginny.

Ron sunk into dejected silence.

"As I was saying, we're in a broom closet, hiding from Filch," finished Harry.

"Hiding _silently_." 

Ginny gave her brother the kind of scathing look that is entirely wasted in an unlit closet. "Someone's going to hear you."

"How come you can talk and I can't?" Ron sulked. "Besides, this closet's practically sound proof. No one's going to find-"

But Ron was interrupted. Someone had just flung the door open, filling the small closet with blinding light.


	3. Ch3

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Author's Notes: I updated! Yes, that's right, I'm not dead and I'm updating! Huzzah!

But aside from that I owe excuses, so…it's been a very busy Christmas, New Year's, exams and everything in between. Makes me tired just thinking about it. Please forgive.

Also, loads of thanks to everyone who reviewed! YashiriRanma4ever, SilverFyre31, Angel Black1, Eve Granger, Enter the Extinct Age, this mean You. Much loff.

Chapter 3

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The Switch

Lucky for them, it was only Hermione.

"Ron! I'm going to _kill_ you!"

Well, all of them except for Ron.

After throwing the door open with strength similar to that of a small elephant, Hermione Granger launched into a full-scale rant, with gravity and ear-piercing shrillness to spare. She pulled them all out of the closet, and then, with Harry and Ginny following behind, went charging down the hall (yet again resembling an elephant…perhaps on steroids) while simultaneously tongue-lashing Ron for engaging in the evils of hand to hand combat _ON SCHOOL GROUNDS_. 

"Why, you could've been killed!" she berated. "If Malfoy had drawn his wand…" 

__

"I'm sure we all wish Malfoy would refrain from drawing his ***wand*** in public," thought Harry, and then snickered uncontrollably until he tripped on his own robe and went careening into a first year Hufflepuff.

__

Boys.

Hermione's lengthy lecture, which continued nonetheless as she pulled Ron to the common room by one ear, and then extended well into the night, included such admonishments as, "Not only is it horribly dangerous, it's also against school rules!"

After she'd given Ron sufficient time to cower in SHAME, Hermione added bitingly, "And Harry, stop snickering."

And whenever Ron started to nod off (as he was apt to do), Hermione would rap him sharply on the wrist.

"Ow! Whaddid you do that for?"

"To show you that violence is not the answer," she responded curtly. "Now hush!"

Harry had meant to ask Hermione how she'd found them, or even how she knew about the fight in the first place. But, being mortally terrified of what she'd do to him for interrupting, he cowardly chose to go to bed and worry about it in the morning.

~~

The following day, late morning actually, a portion of the remaining student body of Hogwarts was eating breakfast in the dinning hall. Their talk was morning dulled murmuring mostly, some people still in pajamas rubbing sleep out of their eyes and working industriously to reach sustaining levels of caffeine. 

But then the pounding started.

A low rumble at first, the noise that seemed to be coming from somewhere above their heads grew steadily louder, like a roll of thunder that refused to break. The noise descended, growing in magnitude and pitch until it was directly outside the Hall's doors.

A hush fell over the crowd.

"We're all gonna die!" screamed Ernie Macmillan, jumping on top of his seat to warn the crowd of their impending doom. He proceeded to dive under the table with half the Hufflepuffs following suit.

__

But aside from that mild disturbance, the crowd remained hushed.

And then, the great oaken doors flew open to reveal a sight _more_ horrifying and lethally dangerous than a fully-grown, fire-spewing Hungarian Horntail. 

That's right, it was a furious Mob of teenaged girls. 

There were even Slytherins in the throng, which was odd, as they usually deigned not come to breakfast during the holidays. Why bother dragging yourself all the way upstairs when the house-elves are all too happy to bring a continental breakfast in bed, with freshly baked _croissants au chocolat,_ and fluff the pillows while they're at it?

The Mob, buzzing like a swarm of angry pixies, marched straight toward the Gryffindor table where an assortment of no-longer-so-very-sleepy people sat. These included a sullen Ron and pursed-lipped Hermione.

He caught her eye, and she shot him a thoroughly disapproving look.

Oh the SHAME!

And so Ron returned to gapping at the approaching army, too awed by the vision of incensed flannel, silk, and fluffy bunny slippers to continue with their little spat.

The collection came to a thundering halt directly in front a dazed looking boy who was preparing to take a seat. From the head of The Mob emerged none other than one Sally-Ann Perks.

Heading straight for a doe-eyed Neville Longbottom, Sally marched forward, eyes narrowed to blazing slits of fire, and poked him sharply in the chest.

****

"I can't_ believe _you!You actually dared to show your _face_?" she exclaimed, with all the passion, and then some, of a very jilted lover.

"Shouldn't I?" squeaked Neville in confusion. "Is there something on it?"

He lifted a hand to tap searchingly at the bridge of his nose.

Sally-Anne's eyebrows shot about halfway past her hairline, while her entourage continued to stare scathingly at Neville. Forget daggers, they were shooting full-fledged machetes.

"What? You mean you don't even _remember_?" she shrieked, arms flailing and eyes glinting like the edge of a guillotine blade.

"Er…no," ventured Neville, his voice quavering.

This response provoked The Mob into murmurs of "He doesn't remember? He doesn't _remember_?!", plus "And I thought Michael Corner was bad!", mixed in with the occasional "Vile fiend!"

Neville took one step back and The Mob moved with him.

"Well, maybe _this_ will help!"

And with that Sally-Ann slapped Neville smartly across the face.

__

"Bastard!"

The hall gave a collective gasp.

"Can't say I didn't warn you Neville," muttered Ernie Macmillan, peering out from beneath a tablecloth. "Death and destruction. _Didn't_ I warn him?"

And with such an apocalyptic commotion going on, everyone, and especially Ron Weasley, was just to distracted to notice a hand slip over his steaming mug of cocoa, drop in a pinch of white powder, and then swiftly disappear beneath the folds of a jet black robe.

"And don't even _think_ about apologizing." 

And with that Sally-Anne spun about, hair whipping dangerously close to Neville's stinging face, and stomped out of the hall. The sea of onlookers parted to let her pass many of them shooting disapproving looks at a stunned and slightly pudgy Gryffindor.

That womanizing Longbottom boy.

Attempting not to upset an already scandalized Neville, Ginny Weasley hid her smirk behind a mug of hot chocolate. 

"I didn't do _anything_!" said Neville earnestly, his face an alarmingly deep shade of crimson. "In fact, I've _never _done anything!"

And so Neville scurried out after the tormented Ms. Perks, leaving half the hall laughing hysterically behind him.

~~

When she was positive it wouldn't come shooting out of her nose during a particularly enthusiastic spasm of laughter, Ginny took a sip of hot cocoa.

"Bleuh!" she sputtered, recoiling abruptly.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry, pausing between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs.

"Burned my tongue," replied Ginny, setting the steaming mug down and going for a glass of ice water.

"Here." Ron slid his own hot chocolate, looking deceptively innocent, over to his sister. "You can have mine."

"Ron…"

"It's not poisoned or anything," he said, inching the mug toward her.

Poisoned, no. Drugged, maybe.

"This is just becoming rather creepy," said Ginny.

Ron looked confused as if he didn't have the slightest idea what she was on about, mostly because he didn't.

Ginny crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look. "It's not like you need to make up for Fred and George. Perhaps you didn't notice, but they have never exactly insisted on pampering my every whim."

"Wha-? No, I'm just not thirsty."

"How chivalrous, dearest devoted older brother." But before Ron could say anything in protest, Ginny took a complacent sip.

"Mmm, gotta love chocolate in the mornings."

"What do you mean, 'pampering your every whim'?" asked Ron, although he had a vague idea of what she was on about.

"I'm just saying, it seems like ever since Fred and George left home, you've taken to hovering over me like its your number one favorite pastime," explained Ginny calmly. "Not that I _mind_, of course. It's a lot like having a second overbearing mother. As if one wasn't good enough."

"You're rather sarcastic today," remarked Hermione without glancing up from her Daily Prophet.

"I just haven't had enough caffeine," Ginny apologized. "I'll be fine in a moment."

But in a little less than a moment, more like a jiffy if you will, Ginny was feeling anything but fine.

After drinking about half of her brother's mug of cocoa, she started to feel feverish and dizzy.

"Does anyone else find it unbearably hot in here?" she asked.

"Not really," responded Dean Thomas with a smile, "but maybe it's just the after effects of Neville."

Hermione paused in reading an article about the latest outbreak of Fortenbras Flu, took one look at Ginny, and got worried. 

"Are you feeling alright?" 

Ginny had gone paler than usual and her eyes were developing a glazed over look.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Ginny replied, checking her forehead for signs of fever and realizing she'd lost all feeling in her hand. 

She noticed Harry watching her intently as well. His slightly worried gaze made her stomach flip and sent shivers through her toes. Or maybe that was the fever too.

"On second thought, I think I'll head back to the dorms."

"I'll walk you," said Ron hurriedly, pushing back his chair.

But that was the last thing Ginny wanted.

"_Ron._ I'll be fine."

And with that she made her way dizzily, though trying hard to look the picture of perfect health, out of the Great Hall. As she walked, her vision began to blur, so that by the time she passed through the doors to the Entrance Hall, Ginny couldn't see where she was going at all. Her world was all hazy nausea, the feverish heat replaced by a numbing cold. 

With her body gone weak and her mind not far behind, Ginny continued through the Hall. Although she really had meant to go up to the Gryffindor Common room, her footsteps insisted on leading her past the stairway and down a dark and stony side corridor. She moved along like a puppet, her limbs having completely escaped her control. Something, which seemed to be situated very near the pit of her stomach, was forcing her to follow a predestined path, and she was feeling far too light-headed to protest. 

With blurry blue spots dancing in front of her eyes, Ginny made one final turn, abruptly to her right, pushed back a tapestry she could barely see or feel, and walked into a hidden passageway where someone was waiting impatiently.

The last words she heard were "Ah Weasley!" Then, as the voice turned to outraged confusion, "What the-? Oh Theodore, why does your incompetence plague me so? The rest of the world is so painfully inept."

At which point Ginny's knees gave way beneath her, and she blacked out completely.


	4. Ch4

**A/N:** It's been a while since the last update, this I know. The truth is, if my life consisted of being locked in a room with my laptop, the entire Harry Potter boxed set, and an unending supply of chocolate and Starbucks, I'd update a lot faster. Sadly for us all, it does not.

To eliminate all that pesky checking back to see if a new chapter is up, I'm posting updates on my fanfic journal (no html here. link on my profile or search 'bittersweetie' on livejournal), along with other ficlets. This is an extra long chapter to make up for the wait, so tell me what you think. ****

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**CHAPTER FOUR**

When Ginny regained consciousness a few hours later, she found two startled grey eyes staring back at her. Draco Malfoy had been leaning over her in a way that blows raspberries at the very concept of personal space.

"Oh!" she yelped sinking back, and near drowning, in a cushy satin pillow.

"Good morning sleepy head," drawled Draco, who'd promptly backed himself into a corner, as far away from the angry eyed redhead as possible.

"_What_ are you doing here?" demanded Ginny; sitting up violently and staring, gaping, out between the drapes at the loathsome Slytherin.

"Just checking to see if you were still breathing," said Draco in a tone that suggested he couldn't care less about his findings, one way or another. "Thought you might have died or something."

In her current state of shock, this made less sense to Ginny than if he'd said, "I've decided to become a tiny circus monkey. Care to join?"

There was only one plausible response.

Ginny threw a pillow at him.

"Get out! Get out of my room!"

Draco caught the pillow and threw it over his shoulder.

"Actually, this is my room," Draco pointed out. "I'm the one who should be asking _you_ to get out."

"Gladly," responded Ginny, noticing for the first time that the drapes around her bed, no, _his_ bed, were colored a lush green, not the usual red.

"Not so fast," said Draco, brandishing his wand to push her back, a bit too hard, into the bedclothes. Ginny landed with a flop.

"Let me go!" she shouted, struggling unsuccessfully and tangling the sheets still further while Draco kept her pinned against the bed. "What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?"

"Waiting for you to calm down," said Draco coolly. "You Gryffindors are such drama queens."

Ginny, who oddly enough was less than happy being pushed against a bed by Draco Malfoy, went rigid and was promptly released from his hold.

"Why am I in you room?" she demanded, sitting up, but remaining in the confines of the linens.

"You mean you don't remember?" asked Draco with mock indignation. He took a few steps closer, but kept his wand out in case she tried anything. "Last night?"

Ginny's jaw dropped like a Keeper bent on suicide.

"_What?_!"

Draco smirked, "Well don't look so disgusted."

"You've _got_ to be joking!" cried Ginny, shaking her head violently.

"Actually, yes," said Draco. "For one thing it's still Thursday, and around noon at the latest."

Ginny furrowed her eyebrows, trying to remember that morning. She'd gotten up, dressed, bumped into Colin Creevey, had a tiresome conversation about wombats, _finally_ got away, went to breakfast…but the only thing she could think of after that were Malfoy's eyes, inches from her face.

"What happened after breakfast?"

Draco considered.

"After breakfast? You fainted and I brought you to my chambers to recover."

"Like a true gentleman," said Ginny, delving so deeply into sarcasm it was doubtful she'd ever return. She thought she knew what was going on, but it didn't make any sense.

"I certainly thought so," said Draco, taking a small bow.

"Then I guess this means I'm kidnapped?"

Draco looked affronted, "Not at all, you are simply-"

"Imprisoned?" Ginny cut in.

"No, you're just-"

"Held against my will?"

"Well yes."

"Going to die?"

"No! Don't be ridiculous, Miss-"

"Congeniality?"

"Hardly."

"Breathtakingly gorgeous then?" supplied Ginny, beginning to enjoying Draco's sputtering tremendously. Obviously, there was no getting a straight answer out of this boy, so she might as well have a little fun with him. The satisfaction she got from annoying him was almost as good as the time she hit him with a Bat Bogey Hex fourth year.

"Will you let me finish?" asked Draco, trying in vain to regain his cool.

"Fine, but this better be good."

Draco cleared his throat.

"You are Ginny Weasley, sixth year Gryffindor, chaser for the Quidditch team, only daughter of Arthur Weasley, youngest of seven in a shockingly large family, with brothers Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and _Ron_. You are going to stay in this room until I say otherwise. You are also a mistake and, at the moment, a waste of my time."

Now it was Ginny's turn to sputter.

"I'll see you later, Number Seven," said Draco, walking out the door and shutting it behind him before Ginny could say, "What do you mean by 'mistake'?"

Ginny heard the distinct click of a lock and started to feel queasy knowing she was in the icy clutches of a merciless Slytherin, with no means of escape. Really, she'd rather be eaten alive by a pack of carnivorous butterflies.

"'"

It was half past eleven, and Ginny was late.

She and Ron were planning to meet on the Quidditch pitch to practice a bit before lunch, Double Eight Loops, and the like. Sure, Ginny had been feeling a bit queasy, but she hadn't cancelled the practice, so Ron thought they'd just leave off work on the Woollongong Shimmy and everything would be just peachy.

Ron could've flown alone, but an uncanny paranoia prevented him. He believed the risk was too great, what with the high chance that he would fall off his broom mid-flight, perhaps after an attack by Hitchcockian crows or a particularly bloodthirsty robin, then plummet unceremoniously to the ground, be rendered helpless by full body paralysis, starve to death over a period of days, maybe even weeks, while his absence went tragically unnoticed, until one day his dead, frozen, emaciated body was discovered by a disoriented Romanian tourist, who was then, themselves, struck dead from the fright.

And how could he live with that kind of guilt?

Also, Ron reminded himself as he checked the minutes ticking away on the scoreboard timer, Ginny wasn't the kind to be absent without a reason. She should be there any minute.

Twenty minutes later, Ron stood glowering at a suspicious looking sparrow, cold and alone. He'd been tapping his foot for so long, it was now the only part of him not numb to the bone with cold. For this reason, Ron decided to start a fire.

He waved his wand over a small space of grass, and thought warm thoughts.

"Incendio." 

Pink fire went snaking all round Ron's feet, spurting flames dangerously close to his robes. Ten seconds later the fire had extinguished itself, leaving hot pink scorch marks in the grass.

They spelled RON SUCKS, in letters the size of a small elephant.

"Oh bugger," said Ron.

Still frozen to the bone, and after much trepidation, Ron discovered the letters to be indestructible. To save face, he did finally manage to change the letters around some.

"Better. Definitely better," said Ron, squinting his eyes together and looking none to sure.

PRONS SUCK glowed brightly across the field.

"""

"Has anyone seen Ginny?" wailed Ron as he stepped into the Gryffindor common room.

A chorus of nos, nopes, not todays, and one very suspect, "I think she's on vacation in Latvia" responded.

"Ginny _Weasley_," specified Ron, turning to Mr. Latvia.

"Oooooooooooh. No."

"Did you check the Great Hall?" asked Hermione.

"Yes."

"The Astronomy Tower?"

"Yup."

"Madame Pomfrey's office?"

"Yeah."

"Hagrid's?"

"Mmmhmm."

"The library?"

"Hermione, you're the only person I know who'd spend Christmas holidays in the library," said Harry.

Hermione automatically gave him a look of grave disbelief, setting down her book better to put her hands on her hips.

"Well, do you have any better ideas?"

"The Quidditch pitch?"

Ron went a bit red.

"She's not there."

"Did you hear, someone wrote 'Prons Suck' on the pitch this morning?" said Hermione. "Really, the people here have far too much time on their hands without classes to go to."

"Er…I'd no idea," said Ron, going a bit redder.

"What's a pron?"

"A prawn is a decapod crustacean, commonly confused with the shrimp, another seafaring invertebrate. Prawns are delicious both boiled and fried, unless of course you're allergic to shellfish, in which case-"

"Thanks Hermione," Harry cut in hurriedly.

"Except, whoever defaced the Quidditch field spelled it incorrectly," continued Hermione, as if this were a personal insult. "I had no idea anyone felt so strongly about it, especially an illiterate someone."

"Look," said Ron, all too happy to change the subject, "This is all very interesting, but I really need to find my sister. She could've been attacked by birds, or something."

Harry gave him a weird look.

"Seriously Ron, I'm sure she's fine," said Hermione. "You need to stop being so overprotective of her. You look about ready to call in the Ministry of Magic Department of Misplaced Persons, Personas, and Personalities."

Ron contemplated.

"You know, that's not a bad idea."

And he went off to find some Floo Powder.

"I'll come with you," said Harry, jumping out of his seat.

Hermione picked up her book, grumbling to herself.

"Has no one in this school got the slightest idea what sarcasm is?"

"'"

"And you know I'm just deliriously happy that some fool Gryffindor went and drank hot cocoa that wasn't theirs, ruining my plans beyond reconciliation, AND leaving me to deal with yet another Weasley! After getting beaten up in freak hallway encounter I thought my day couldn't possibly get any better. How very wrong I was."

"Look, there's no need to start dripping with sarcasm Draco," said Theodore Knott, putting his hands up in supplication. "I'm just saying why don't we come up with a new revenge plan, since this one's been botched. Something that's less a petty prepubescent game. You know, more evil."

The way he said evil would've made Snape shiver in his knickers.

"Are you suggesting that acquiring incriminating photos of Weasley passed out in the Astronomy Tower, wearing nothing more than lacey pink women's undergarments is somehow less than evil?"

"No... I simply…" began Knott, but Draco interrupted.

"Actually, lacey red would be more evil."

Knott puzzled. "How so?"

"It clashes horribly with his hair.'

"Very evil," agreed Knott. "But as we have his younger sister…"

"And I assume she would look ravishing even if it was red," finished Draco with frustration. "Bugger it. Oh, and by the way, that little discrepancy is entirely your fault. Remind me again why I've refrained from siccing Crabbe and Goyle on you?" ****

"Because," said Nott importantly, "I have a proposition to make."

"Dear gods Nott," said Malfoy, exasperated, "I don't need you to hand wash my dress robes again."

Theodore looked flustered.

"No, no, not that. I was just thinking, this Weasley girl, we could use her."

"You and everybody's brother," interjected Draco. "Or so I've heard."

Nott pretended not to hear.

"We have the upper hand, Draco, and there's a lot we can do with this girl."

"Ah yes," said Draco, barely able to contain his excitement. "So we bribe him into putting the lacey undergarments on _of his own free will_. Brilliant!"

"Well actually that's not what I meant…"

Draco sighed.

"I know that's not what you meant. So tell me, what's the plan? I may just decide not to punish your incompetence yet."

"'"

That evening, round about nine o'clock, Ginny lay on top of the overly fluffed bed of her posh prison, tortured by the excruciating pain of extreme boredom. She flicked her wand lazily, conducting the aerial movements of the greater part of Draco's Chocolate Frog Card collection in a vain attempt to distract her rumbling stomach. It felt emptier than the stadium at the last Chudley Cannons match, and Ginny wondered if it had started eating itself or had decided to change professions and embrace a long repressed dream of becoming a world-class yodeler.

Just as Ginny was coaxing a particularly stubborn Nicholas Flammel card into flight, ignoring his tiny squeaks of, "Man was not made to fly dear girl! Do a look like a flipping spring chicken to you?" a particularly loud throat clearing sounded behind her.

"Oh!" Ginny spun around, breaking concentration in the process and causing all the cards to come fluttering down around them. In this case 'Them' means Ginny and a particularly stuffy looking house elf. He wore a tablecloth that, in an impressive feat of engineering and optical illusion, was draped to resemble an itsy-bitsy, though debonair, tweed suit and held in front of him a covered plate in sterling silver.

"Miss?" began the house elf dryly, in a richly snotty accent, just as a Lord Stoddard Withers card came twirling down, merrily shouting, "I'm a bird! I'm a plane! I'm SUPER WITHERS!"

Super Withers landed directly on top of the house elf's wrinkled old head. He remained stoic. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything _importan_t."

Ginny had never met a sarcastic house elf before, but she supposed there was a first time for anything. Especially where Slytherin is concerned.

Ginny surveyed the after effects of her miniature Frog Card blizzard.

"You think Malfoy would fancy a game of fifty two thousand pick up?"

The house elf raised a disapproving eyebrow, at which point Ginny had the distinct feeling that he was looking down his lengthy nose at her, an astonishing accomplishment for someone less than two feet tall.

But he'd had years of practice.

"I would not presume to know what Master Malfoy finds entertaining," replied the elf.

"Well, let's hope he loathes it," replied Ginny, smiling. Then she remembered her visitor. "Who are you anyway? Did he send you?"

"I," proclaimed the elf with a bow, "am Jeeves."

"Fantastic," said Ginny, proving that Jeeves wasn't the only sarcastic one in the room, "and you're here to set me free I suppose."

Wishful thinking sweetheart.

"Not at all. I am here because Master Malfoy instructed me to bring you a bite to eat."

A particularly record-breaking growl sounded from Ginny's stomach at the very moment. She'd give an avalanche a run for its money.

Jeeves jumped.

He did, however, regain enough of his composure to remark, "You should know, Miss, that keeping grizzlies in the dormitory is _quite_ against the rules."

Ginny went red.

"I'll, um, be sure to remember that," she said, giving Jeeves a frigid look. But she couldn't be too harsh with him. "You say you have some food?"

"Yes, Miss," replied Jeeves, removing the cover from the suddenly present dish in his hand, to reveal a small portion of somethings, light pink and glistening, artfully arranged on a lettuce leaf. He proceeded to place this on a fresh linen tablecloth. Moments later, a chair violently knocked into the back of Ginny's legs, prompting her to fall into place in front of a romantic presentation of five slimy pink somethings for one, complete with candelabra.

"_What_ are those?" making a face unbefitting for someone on the brink of starvation.

"Prawns."

Jeeves was inching his way out of the room; afraid the plebian ignorance of a girl who couldn't tell a prawn from her Great Aunt Mildred would rub off on him.

Considering Mildred, it's harder than you'd think.

Ginny stood up, causing the table to shake dangerously. Jeeves was unfazed, unaware of the dangers of a wrathful Gryffindor girl.

"I haven't eaten for twenty four hours and he sends me a teaspoon's worth of _prawns_?!" yelled Ginny.

"I take it you are unsatisfied?" sighed Jeeves.

"Yes, I'm unsatisfied! I know I'm a prisoner, but the least he could do is send me a heaping platter of gruel! You know, something _filling_. "

In her fit of rage, Ginny seriously contemplated hurling the dish at the wall, but reconsidered. She'd rather throw it at Malfoy.


	5. Ch5

**A/N**- You mean to tell me you've read this far and still haven't reviewed?! C'mon honey, give me some sugar. I _am_ your neighbor.

Chapter Five

**A Woman Scorned**

When Draco opened the door to his room he almost turned back around. Surely he'd made a mistake. Sparkling cleanliness and clean-cut edges like those of a sword poised for battle defined the room he knew. The room of a conqueror, boasting a place for every thing. _Not_ a thing for every place.

Disarray assaulted him like a tornado spell ravaging perfection three times over. Draco gaped at his room, despoiled by a force that had unmade his bed, scattered his Wizard cards, opened all his drawers, pulled the books from his shelves, and made a fort out of them tented by the rumpled bed clothes. And as if that weren't enough, someone had conjured a hoard of warthogs to root through his drawers and eat his underwear.

The color drained from Draco's already pale face until he was nearly see-through, the tone of incensed wax paper perhaps. It hardly helped when he stepped in the plate of prawns placed strategically under his foot.

Naturally, Draco screamed.

It was not at all a girlish scream.

In the middle of it all sat Ginny Weasley, a beatific look gracing her face and a warthog under her arm.

"Hello stranger." She grinned, "It's about time."

"What the HELL did you do to my ROOM?"

Ginny looked startled.

"Draco! Will you hush? Norman dislikes loud noises."

"Norman?"

"The warthog." The animal Ginny was patting on the head made a gurgling noise and began to munch on Draco's Quidditch broom.

"Drop that!" Draco made a dive for the broom, managing to wrest it from the slobbering snout of Norman. "You vile beast, you filth covered pig, and _you_," he pointed the handle of the broom at Ginny with menace, "roomwreaker."

"Not so cool and collected as usual, Malfoy," Ginny observed. "Something the matter?"

Ginny managed to furrow her brow a bit, barely concealing her glee at the pained expression on Malfoy's face.

"Yes, something's the matter!"

"Someone steal your shampoo perhaps?"

"Gryffindor, you are surely the spawn of Satan. Or at the very least, the spawn of one of Hagrid's flobberworms."

"Just trying to fit in. Be more Slytherin now that I'm living here."

Draco did not deign to reply. Instead, he raised his wand and pointed it at the warthog. "Clean this mess up right now or else Norman will be very purple, very soon."

"Just try." Ginny stood up and placed herself in front of quivering Norman. "I transfigured him myself from one of your many pairs of silk boxers. And then, I put a locking spell on him. In fact, I've locked every single spell I used to achieve this truly paramount mess." Ginny gestured to the chaos around her. "I'm quite proud of it actually. And you can not do anything to reverse it without my permission."

Draco lowered his wand.

Usually, Draco was not the kind of guy who gives in to threats and demands. Especially those of a terrorizing redheaded sixth year. However, he was also was not the kind of guys who sleeps in the same room with a warthog called Norman.

"Fine. What do you want?"

"I want out of this room, a meal that is neither pink nor slimy, and as many barrels of chocolate ice cream as you can find to make up for my troubles." It had taken her an entire day of destruction to perfect this plan, and she was nearly positive she'd get her way. You do not grow up as the youngest girl in a house full of brothers without learning how to fight dirty. Very dirty, in fact. "Also I would appreciate it if you stopped being such an arrogant prat, but I suppose one can't have everything.'

"I am not going to-"

"And," Ginny continued, "If you fail to comply I will continue to hold all your earthly possessions hostage. Also, I'm curious how that armoire will look as a pile of rosewood splinters…"

"Alright, Alright!" Draco extended his hands in supplication. " Just stop tormenting my room you sadistic harpy."

"Thank you. You did all you could."

With a flick of her wand, Ginny made the bed, shut the drawers, ripped the broom from Draco's hand, flew it straight into its handy carrying case, lifted every one of the knick-knacks from the floor, sent them whizzing to their proper places, and caused Norbert to grunt once, then crumple into a pair of black silk boxers.

Ginny headed toward the door, but stopped a few inches from Draco when she realized he wasn't moving out of her way.

"Will you let me by?"

Draco drew his shoulders back and smirked down at her upturned face.

"As I recall, that was not one of your demands."

"Fine." Ginny walk forward until she stood pressed between Draco and the doorframe. She expected him to move, but his shoulder remained firm. With a huff, Ginny finally managed to push past him and out the door.

Draco did not bother to watch her go. Instead, he knelt beside his underwear with a suspicious look.

"I'm going to have to burn these, aren't I?"

"'"

Not Dean, not Colin, not Alicia, not even that statue of a hobgoblin on the third floor, NO ONE had seen Ginny the disappearing Weasley for an entire day.

"Ron, eat your soup." Hermione looked at Ron who hadn't taken a bite all of dinner. He kept staring into space and dipping his spoon into the butter dish.

"What?"

"I said eat something will you please? And stop worrying about Ginny."

But as she said it, Hermione felt her own concern burrow deeper into the lining of her stomach, like a rat settling in on a cold winter night.

"Hermione, she wasn't in her bedroom last night," said Harry, who wasn't helping a bit. "You said it yourself."

"Yes well, there's a perfectly logical explanation for that."

"Yeah, she's been eaten by a Hungarian Horntail," said Ron.

"Or killed by Voldemort," added Harry.

Hermione scanned the room for signs of red hair, but she kept coming back to Ron.

"Ron, do I need to remind you again, Horntails are not indigenous to the area, and Harry, don't be ridiculous."

As much as Hermione denied it, deep down she had enjoyed searching for Ginny the day before, despite the worry. She and Harry and Ron stayed together the entire day. Through the worry she had managed to smile as the boys tripped over each other and forgot the proper etiquette of asking a 14th century suit of armor for advice. The three of them hadn't spent so much time together in months. But that didn't detract from Hermione's resolve to find Ginny, as much for the sake of Ron's sanity as her own.

After walking from the Astronomy Tower to the Forbidden Forest, she convinced Harry to look at the Marauder's Map.

The stiff parchment revealed few people left in school this close to Christmas. She recognized the three of them standing in the Gryffindor tower, Crookshanks perusing a corridor in the west wing, and Filch roaming the second floor girls bathroom. Then, in a far corner of the dungeons, a few halls away from the Potions classroom, the name "Ginny Weasley" materialized in thick, black, letters.

"She's alive." Harry gave Ron an encouraging pat on the back.

"See, I told you she was alright Mr. She's Been Eaten by a Hungarian Horntail"

"Let's just go," said Ron.

"'"

They followed Harry from the top of the Gryffindor tower, down the staircase, through a hidden shortcut wedged between McGonagall's classroom and Filch's thankfully empty office, and into the cold damp halls of the dungeons. Harry turned around corner after corner of grey stone wall. He pressed on despite a looming sense of _deja vu_. The only things reminding Harry that he had not gotten them hopelessly lost were the reassuring ink marks of their three names slowly approaching the words 'Ginny Weasley.' Closer and closer until he rounded yet another corner, checked the map, and saw they'd gone right past her.

Harry stopped abruptly and Ron walked into his back.

"Wotcher, Harry" he exclaimed. Then in confusion, "So are we here then?"

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly what?" said Hermione, bending her head over the map next to Harry.

"Well, we've somehow passed her."

"How the hell…" Ron swore, "Is your map broken?"

Hermione started to walk away from them, backtracking round the corner.

"I doubt it," she said. "Harry, tell me when I'm next to her."

"Right," Harry squinted his eyes in the dim underground light, tracing the path as the name 'Hermione' inched along the page.

"Stop."

Hermione came to a halt directly in front of a wall. A painfully door-less, solid stonewall.

Ron rushed up behind her, battered his fists against the stone and yelled.

"Ginny! Ginny you in there?"

His punches made a small sound, reverberating like the buzz of a dying fly in the corridor.

"Maybe we can break it down," said Harry.

Harry racked his brain for some demolition spell, wishing he could do it the Muggle way. Like with dynamite.

Hermione ran her hands along the stone, shooting sparks from her wand occasionally.

"This is a support wall. The tension on these buttresses is supported by these stones here and goes into the ground. If you were paying any attention to the map you'd see that destroying this wall would cause the whole west side of the building to collapse. You can't just go around breaking down anything you want. Honestly."

"Well do you have a better solution?" Ron was still yelling.

"Yeah, those sparks aren't going to explode anything."

"I'm looking for an enchanted stone. There must be a password locking it, obviously." Hermione continued tapping and sparking as Ron and Harry looked on.

"How long you think she'll do this for."

"Until she's right."

"Shall we place bets?"

"I've found it!" Hermione jumped up from where she was kneeling and grabbed the Marauder's Map from Harry.

The map showed Hermione, beaming with accomplishment, tapping the stone with her wand, mere parchment centimeters away from "Ginny Weasley".

Her three taps resounded eerily as the stone grinded out of its place and fell at her feet. The opening grew wider with a scraping noise, until it was cavernous enough to see through, exposing one of the most horrendous sights Harry had ever seen.

Shelve upon shelve of smiling Santa Clause miniatures, formed to look like shrunken house-elves.

"Congratulations. You kids've discovered the supply closet."

Argus Filch stooped behind them cackling a bit as Mrs. Norris wove between Hermione's legs, only to jump up on the shelves and perch next to a figurine with a striking resemblance.

Ron pounced on Filch.

"You've turned her into a bloody, hideous, house-elf figurine, haven't you? You evil worthless squib, I'll kill you! KILL you!"

"Getoffr! GETTROFF!" Below Filch, swing round the hall and backing into walls. Ron refused to shake off.

"Ron! _Wingardium Leviosa_," Hermione yelled, and Ron sailed away and landed with a light umph. "Honestly, I'm beginning to think you have a rage problem."

"'"

When Ginny slammed her way out of Draco's room, she found herself in a room crawling with Slytherins. Clearly she had not planned this through.

As she stepped into the room every conversation stuttered to a halt. There was nothing but the sound of sharply cut noise, that moment when you think you can hear the echo of a dropped sentence resounding in the silence. That and the frazzling of Ginny's nerves. From the frying pan into the fire indeed.

And then Pansy Parkinson broke the silence.

"Oh look, a Weasel."

As if enough of them weren't eying her already. Ginny was reminded of a pack of wolves before the kill. And she could almost see their mouths watering.

"A Common Pure Trash Pure Blood of the Ginger variety, exhibit A," added Malcolm Baddock with a sneer. "This is what your mothers warned you about."

Ginny willed the blood rushing to her face to go the hell away.

"Malcolm, don't you have somewhere better to be," said Blaise Zabini. "You know, painting your nails or something."

"Not that he could compete with your manicure, m'dear," added Adrian Pucy, winking at Blaise.

"Oh, then you can go too. Show him how its done."

Ginny wondered whether she could slink down the corridor without them noticing. She had very little interest in Adrian Pucy's abilities as a beautician.

She checked to see how far the Slytherins' attention had wandered. Malcolm Baddock, another fourth year, and a trio of second or third year girls were watching the spat between the calmly taunting Blaise Zabini and the increasingly red Adrienne. Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Knott sat on either side of Blaise, the three of them curved around a polished black mahogany table, upon which several decks of cards fanned out in piles and four long stemmed wine glasses stood in various states of emptiness. Pansy took a sip from her glass and noticed Ginny inching backwards out of the room.

"Oh, leaving so soon?" she announced, causing the others to jerk their heads in Ginny's direction. "And I was hoping you'd stay. It makes me feel so _rich_, you understand, having your obvious hand-me downs and incandescent poverty in such close proximity."

Ginny bit her tongue, far too preoccupied with her increasingly red face to notice Theodore Nott jab Pansy in the side.

"You're just jealous because she's in Draco's room and you're not, Pansy," he added with a warning glance.

"Hmm, yes that's it exactly," her voice reeked of sarcasm, the kind that made Ginny want to choke. Herself or Pansy, it hardly mattered.

"Terribly sorry, Miss Weasley," said Pansy, as she stepped on Theodore's foot in return. The Parkinsons have a highly developed sense of retribution. "Let me make it up to you. Care for some Shredded Hearts?"

"Excuse me?" the first words Ginny spoke and they suffered greatly in the wit department.

"Cards?" Malcolm Baddock drew the word out like a xylophone, or more accurately a condescending xylophone. He sighed. "And she's thick too."

"We've lost our fourth," explained Theodore Nott. "You know how to play?" He was already kicking out a chair for her.

"A bit. I was actually on my way out…"

"Nice try. Have a seat."

And so Ginny made her way across what must have been the common room. She checked the chair for thumbtacks and razorblades before sitting down.

"How kind of you to join us." mocked Blaise, sitting to Ginny's right. And then to the rest of the room, "I thought I told you to leave."

"When it's just getting good?" whined Malcolm.

"Exactly," said Pansy. "And if you don't, I'll feed your bits and pieces to Alfie one ball at a time." She smiled and finished brightly, "Prefects orders!"

The room cleared out in five seconds flat. Ginny could feel her stomach dropping to her toes.

"And now that we're alone…"

Pansy turned to Ginny, smiling with her canines bared and gleaming in the torchlight.

"Let the games begin."

"'"

A/N- oh no! What will the trio do now, stuck between a rock wall of malformed Chris Kringle miniatures and a hard faced Filch? Will Ginny play or get played? Who is this carnivorous 'Alfie' character? And most importantly, where, oh where, has Draco gotten off to? Surely the boy enjoys a round of Shredded Hearts? These questions and more answered in the glorious chapter six…


End file.
